When I’m out walking, I sometimes amuse myself by looking for four-leaf clovers. Ever since childhood, I have followed the custom of nominating a person or a reason before searching, so when I find the clover, I already know what it is for.
My eye enjoys patterns so will skim over the patches and highlight an anomaly that looks a bit four-leafy for further inspection. I just have to pause, retrace a step or two, and be willing to appear goofy to any fellow walkers. Nothing new there then. Often, as I tease the leaves apart, I discover that the spurious leaflet belongs to a neighbouring stalk, but once in a while it’s a four-leaf one.
Yesterday, I had been wondering what to post, but it had been one of those dissatisfied Covid-19 days when it seemed like there was nothing in my photo files I wanted to share: nothing that felt appropriate for this half time that is not life as we know it and neither summer nor autumn. Rain had been forecasted for the next few days but the weather was cool and fine and the sky, blue, tempting me outside.
Walking through wildflowers, I decided to look for a clover for the blog with the idea that everyone who sees it here could have a share in it. In those circumstances, it would seem appropriate to leave the leaf growing where it was rather than pick it, were one found.
On my way home, I found the top one. My picture of it is a bit dodgy, and it isn’t perfectly formed, but you can’t argue with a lucky clover.
Less than a minute later and just a few steps on, nature offered us a second one to share that is a bit more even with the classic clover pattern. I left it growing too.
So now, if you believe in such things, you have a part share in two four-leaf clovers that are growing wild in Lancashire. Imagine them in a broad patch of clover edged with grasses, thistles that seem reluctant to let go of their seed, Queen Anne’s lace tangled up with purple vetch, and yellow birdsfoot trefoil.
Shared for Cee’s Flower of the Day (which also accepts leaves and berries).